


a heart over an open flame

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Discussion of Emotion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Golden Deer Dorothea Arnault, Golden Deer Ferdinand von Aegir, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Claude von Riegan, Mentioned Dorothea & Ingrid, Mentioned Dorothea & Sylvain, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Merceus, Soft Dorothea Arnault, Soft Ferdinand von Aegir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: After the destruction of Fort Merceus, Ferdinand has a visitor waiting in his room.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	a heart over an open flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roxyryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/gifts).



> For Roxy who said she wants more Ferdithea <3
> 
> and also for Andi, but Andi will be mad at me later so...
> 
> I'm not super practiced in Ferdinand or Dorothea, but I wanted them to be soft, so they are.

Ferdinand’s door is open when he arrives back at his room. He stops in the hallway and stares at the door that is ajar. He hadn’t left it that way so it’s odd to see it. His hand falls to his side where it rests over the knife at his side as he steps forward, pushing the door open fully. Whatever he is expecting in the room is not what he gets. 

A figure stands on the far side of the room in front of the window, silhouetted by moonlight. By the grace of the form and the wave of dark hair, Ferdinand recognizes her. 

He drops his hand from the knife and hesitates in the doorway of his own chamber. She doesn’t turn to face him or acknowledge his presence, so he strides towards her slowly, making sure to keep his footsteps light so that he doesn’t startle her. 

“Where’s the armour?” she asks when he’s just a few paces away. “It’s not like you to be so undefended, Ferdie.”

“It needed repairs,” he admits. 

She turns towards him finally and the moonlight catches on her green eyes, nearly turning them silver before they darken back to the rich green he recognizes. Dorothea, for all her jabs about his lack of armour, is stripped down to a simple shirt and pants combination that Ferdinand is pretty sure doesn’t belong to her. 

“Did you go see Manuela or Marianne at least?” she asks, her arms crossing in front of her chest as she studies him in the dark of the room. 

Ferdinand hesitates, unsure how to admit that he did not, in fact, get looked over by any of the white magic specialists in the army. Dorothea seems to notice his stance and his evasive gaze at the question and she frowns. 

“Ferdie, did you have anyone look at it?”

He opens his mouth to lie straight through his teeth, but Dorothea steps closer to him, pushing his stomach to try and unbalance him. The wound on his leg aches as he staggers and he nearly falls down. Disappointment crosses Dorothea’s face and she grabs his arm to prevent him from falling to the ground. 

“Why wouldn’t you see a healer? That wasn’t a good fall you took,” she points out as if he hadn’t been the one to get thrown to the ground from horseback.

“I didn’t know you were watching,” he admits before he thinks better of it. 

Dorothea’s lips press into a thin line and she gently pulls him to the bed, pushing him down so that he sits. She turns away from him and lights the tip of her finger with a small controlled Fire spell and lights the candle on his bedside table. Dorothea turns back and sits next to him on the bed. Their thighs press together and warmth spreads across his leg at the contact point. 

She drops a hand to his leg carefully, being gentle so she doesn’t aggravate his wound. Her hand turns slowly tracing a Heal sigil above his leg. The white magic sinks into his flesh and the pain eases a bit. Dorothea’s magic is warm and it feels a bit like holding a flame to his skin for just long enough that the heat nearly burns you. 

“I’m not our best with white magic,” she says, “but it’s better than trying to leave it to heal on its own.”

Ferdinand catches her hand before she can withdraw it. “Thank you, Dorothea.”

She pulls her hand away and turns her head, her hair tumbling over her shoulder in a waterfall motion to hide her face. She doesn’t leave though, and Ferdinand counts it as a win. He reaches up slowly and brushes her hair back over her shoulder in a few slow, gentle motions. Her hair is soft and immaculately cared for, as is expected from Dorothea. 

She keeps her face turned away from him, even once he removes the barrier of her hair. From the gentle glow of the candlelight, he can see the sadness in her expression as she stares stubbornly away from him. 

“Dorothea,” he says. “Is everything alright?”

“Why didn’t you see a healer?” she asks, still not looking at him. 

Ferdinand blinks and she finally turns to look at him. The melancholy in her expression catches him off guard. Dorothea is different than she was five years ago at the Officer’s Academy, but she is still a very emotional and guarded person. 

“They had bigger things to worry about,” he answers honestly. “If we lose Claude, all of this is for nothing.”

She cannot argue with him on that part. This strange conglomerate army of Church Soldiers and Alliance Warriors and Kingdom and Empire defectors is held together by Claude’s honeyed words and the professor’s earnest guidance. They would not have succeeded in taking Merceus without Claude’s risky ploy to bring in the Almyrans. 

Still, now the Alliance leader lies on a cot in the infirmary thanks to the massive explosions that had lit up the fort after the battle. 

Feeling bold for a moment, Ferdinand reaches for Dorothea’s hand. He’s pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away, letting him wrap his hand around hers. Her fingers are long and slender, but they bear the scars and bruises of magic kick-back that is common amongst mages. Her hand still feels soft compared to the weapon callouses that decorate his own hands. 

“Manuela is the best healer we have. With Marianne and the professor’s help, Claude will be fine,” Ferdinand says. 

Dorothea sighs. “I know.” She hesitates and Ferdinand grazes a thumb over the back of her hand reassuringly. “Is it awful of me,” she continues, “to just want all of this to be over as soon as possible?”

Ferdinand considers the question. This war has been messy. His father is dead, as are many of his friends, and they are marching towards Enbarr with the intention of toppling the country that he had been training his whole life to protect and serve. Lorenz tells him it’s for the best and Ferdinand knows that Edelgard must be stopped. 

“No,” he says. “Most days I wish there had never been a war in the first place.” 

She draws her hand out of his grip, but she does tilt her head to make eye contact with him again. “Claude makes all these beautiful promises, but,” she shakes her head, her eyes closing, “what does that do for the friends we kill along the way?”

Ferdinand knows who she is thinking of: the trio of bodies burned and buried after Gronder where they had died in service to their mad king. Ingrid and Felix and Sylvain had been Dorothea’s friends, not his, but he had watched her cut down Sylvain for getting too close to Lysithea and he had seen her close Ingrid’s eyes after the battle once the Faerghus Knight had fallen to her death from her pegasus. 

Ferdinand himself is still thinking of the betrayal on Edelgard and Hubert’s expression when he had raised his lance against them at Gronder Field. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “It does nothing for them.”

Dorothea’s hand lifts and lands on his arm, sliding up slowly, like she’s exploring the gentle sloping muscles of his arm. Her touch is light and it makes his skin tingle through the material of his shirt. 

“I once thought you might be the type to celebrate war, Ferdie. I thought you might enjoy the rush of battle and the chauvinistic glee that comes from cutting down the opposing side’s soldiers.”

“Maybe once,” he admits openly. “But I was not a very smart child. I would have only seen the glory and not the sacrifice required for it. Perhaps this is why I follow now, instead of leading.”

“I’m so tired of fighting,” Dorothea says quietly. “Maybe it’s naive of me to say, but I would love nothing more than to return to the Opera Company in Enbarr. If it’s still standing after all of this.”

Maybe it’s the tone of her voice that sparks a protective instinct in Ferdinand, but he doesn’t think before he speaks. 

“I’ll rebuild it for you if it isn’t.”

She blinks at him, looking a bit taken aback. “I know you have an admiration for the opera, Ferdie, but rebuilding a company like that is not easy work.”

He smiles. “I don’t care about the work, Dorothea. There will be work needed to rebuild Fódlan after the war. Why not add a little more to add some beauty back to the project?”

She smiles back at him. It’s a small smile that is just barely the curl of her lips, but it is a smile from Dorothea for him, so he takes his victories when they come. Dorothea’s hand continues its slow wandering journey up his arm until it rests atop his shoulder. Her finger curls around a lock of his hair. 

Ferdinand keeps his eyes on her face as she casually and curiously fiddles with his hair. He knows it’s long and a bit ridiculous, but maintaining his vanity has been so low on the list of priorities that he hardly ever thinks about his long hair. Dorothea seems interested enough in it in the darkness of his room, so he doesn’t mention its impracticality. 

“Do you regret joining the Golden Deer, Ferdie?” she asks, still gently fiddling with his hair. 

“No,” he says immediately. It’s the answer he has been giving to everyone since the war began, but it feels heavy on his tongue, almost like it’s a lie. “I don’t know,” he corrects after a moment. 

Dorothea’s gaze softens and her hand adjusts, gently touching the side of his face. “I think I do,” she says. “It would have been nice to die at Gronder fighting with our friends.”

“I wouldn’t have made it to Gronder. The Great Bridge is close enough to Hrym territory that I think I would have fallen there.”

She hums lightly. “Maybe I would have stayed in Enbarr. Stayed with the company and died in the streets once the battle arrived.”

“I am glad you came with me, Dorothea,” he confesses. “I do not wish to see you fall.”

“You know, Ferdie, five years ago I might have responded very differently to that.”

He laughs faintly and her finger traces a small circle on the edge of his cheek. “I know you would have. And I probably would have let whatever comment you let slip go right over my head.”

She smiles at that. “Well, we’ve both changed, haven’t we?”

Her hand cups his face gently and Ferdinand’s eyes close out of reflex. Her thumb grazes the arch of his cheekbone and then down across the hollow of his cheek. It brushes the edge of his lips and he forces himself to remain perfectly still. She moves on, tracing up his nose and then the arch of his brow before ghosting over his eyelid. His eyes flutter against his will at the ticklish touch and when they open, Dorothea is much closer than she was before. 

“Why are you here, Dorothea?” he asks so softly the words almost don’t make it past his lips. 

Her calm expression slips. “The professor asked me to join the Golden Deer, and I didn’t want to break that five-year promise.”

“No,” he says, boldness building in his stomach enough to say the next words, “why are you  _ here _ ?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says quietly. “Because, as annoying as I can find your bee-like tendencies, sometimes the attention is nice.”

Ferdinand’s head tilts towards her slowly, making his intentions clear. Normally he would have found himself entirely too afraid to ever cross this gap with Dorothea, but she had come to him. She is being open and honest with him and she looks breathtaking in the candlelight. Dorothea hums quietly under her breath, but she touches his face again. 

“Are you going to break my heart, Ferdie? Like all those other awful nobles?”

“I rather think I’ve already given you mine,” he replies breathlessly. 

She kisses him, featherlight and short for just a moment before she draws back, rubbing his cheekbone lightly with her thumb. Her lips are sweet and Ferdinand has never wanted to hold another person like this before. 

Her green eyes hold him completely captive and the room is silent besides their light breathing. Ferdinand is about to raise his hand to her cheek when he sees that there are tears pooling in her eyes. Instead, he wraps his arm around her shoulder and just pulls her in until her head rests against his shoulder. Her fingers wind tightly into the material of his shirt. 

“I’m tired,” she says quietly. 

He kisses her hair and tightens his grip on her. “I know,” he replies. “We’ll be okay.”

“Don’t you go leaving me too, Ferdie,” she says next. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

He runs his fingers gently through her hair as his eyes wander blindly to the candle on the bedside table. Her hand rests over his heart and her breaths tickle his neck. Ferdinand is tired too, but at least Dorothea is here and at least she is still breathing. 

He’ll be a bee to her if it will keep her alive long enough that he can hold her after the war is over. 


End file.
